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Love encircled me in an awesome flame: consciousness, time, all but that flame vanished; it's not that I shrink from a renewal: he took from me all that I had to give. My dazzling chain engaged me completely, and I scorn anything less demanding-- consumed by wild fire, tied down fast, how can you think I could know other hope, fear? Love plunged his most poignant dart into me made an immortal wound which is my shield against every other erotic knot. For me he lit a torch which makes light dark; he broke the bow when he hurled his arrow, smashed these snares placed here to entangle me. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V XVIII:18. See also B A1:7:6; R LIX:166. Translations: in English: Roscoe, 103; in French: Lefèvre Deumier, 25; Key |
